


Not Without You

by Irrevocably_Sherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Insecure Sherlock, John Whump, M/M, Top Sherlock, oh look there are feels too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 13:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17305238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/pseuds/Irrevocably_Sherlocked
Summary: “John,” Sherlock sighed against John’s lips, closing his eyes and shuddering.“What do you need, Sherlock? I’m here.”Sherlock opened his eyes, “You, John. I need you.”In which John is hurt, Sherlock is scared, and they seek reassurance in each other.





	Not Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! 
> 
> So here is my contribution to the Toplock Fanbook. I can finally post it, as everyone has received their copy, and now I can share it with everyone. However, if you have not gotten to see the actual Fanbook, I highly recommend you find a copy. It is gorgeous, and all my fellow writers and artists did an amazing job. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this!

John paced the floor, checking his phone for the third time in the past hour. Still no word. No sign, no text, calls, nothing from Sherlock. 

“Dammit Sherlock, where are you?” John swore, going to the window and looking out at Baker Street below. 

Normally John wouldn’t be concerned, but they had just wrapped up a particularly harrowing case, and Sherlock had stretched himself to the limit, both physically and mentally. In the end, the child had been saved, the kidnapper captured, but in the course of the apprehension, John had been injured. It was just a minor wound, a slash to the upper thigh, but to look at Sherlock one would have thought John was dying. He’d never seen that look on the detective’s face before, a mix of fury and pain that struck John breathless. 

John collapsed in his chair, wincing a bit as the stitches pulled at the edges of his wound. Picking up his glass, he took a long sip of the excellent scotch, remembering again the ambulance ride. Sherlock was tense and withdrawn, glaring daggers at the paramedics, while he tried to give his account of the injury and comfort Sherlock at the same time. He wanted to gather him in his arms, tell him he was fine, it was just a flesh wound, but he couldn't do more than pat Sherlock’s knee between vital checks. It was the same at the hospital, Sherlock wearing the same mask of intense sadness and despondency, only leaving his side when directly ordered. 

After discharge John wanted nothing more than to get back to Baker Street and relax, maybe take a hot shower, optimistically hoping for a shared one. But after exiting the cab, he quickly realized Sherlock was not right behind him as he usually was, John turning just in time to see him leave in the cab without a word. 

John leaned back and checked his phone again, even though he realized it was pointless. The thought occurred that he should be calling Mycroft. Sherlock’s mood was a huge red flag and John worried he was up to old habits. On the other hand, if Mycroft got involved it would be blown way out of proportion. John really didn’t want to get in the middle of a sibling rivalry where Mycroft again tried to force Sherlock into rehab, and Sherlock proceeded to hurt himself even more out of misguided spite. And in any regard, it was just one night. Sherlock had promised him after the last time to never let himself get so far gone again. He trusted Sherlock would be smart, would come home and everything would be fine. Or so John told himself. But as one hour stretched into two stretched into five, and the unanswered texts began to pile up, John began to have his doubts. 

John took another sip of scotch, and thumbed through his contacts, finding Mycroft’s number. Maybe he could simply ask him to trace Sherlock’s phone, just find out where he was? With a sigh, he pressed the button to shut off the screen. Sherlock was an adult. He was fine. He probably just needed space. Worried but weary, John decided there was no point in staying up half the night waiting for him to return. He heaved himself out of his chair and climbed the stairs to his room. And as the events of the day caught up to him, he fell into a restless sleep.

The mattress dipping and the weight of an arm draping across his stomach woke him up. He glanced at his clock: 4:42 am. “Sherlock,” he whispered, pressing back into the body nestled against his own. Sherlock had obviously just made it home, his skin was still chilly to the touch. As were the tentative lips that brushed across his nape. “Where have you been?” John sighed, angling his neck for more contact. 

“You were hurt tonight.” 

“Sherlock, it was just a minor wound. I told you that.”

“He stabbed you.” The arm across his stomach squeezed a little tighter, those long fingers rubbing a circle around his navel through his T-Shirt. 

“It was a slash really. Three stitches. I’m fine.” He ran his fingers along Sherlock’s forearm and wiggled himself even closer. “Hmm, that’s nice.”

“Mmm.” Sherlock rubbed his nose under John’s ear, pressing his lips to that spot that always made him shiver. John sighed. “I wanted to kill the bastard,” Sherlock growled in a low voice. 

John turned in Sherlock’s arms, brushing curls off his brow. His eyes glowed in the moonlight, shining with the same intensity from earlier: anger mixed with sadness in equal measure. “I’m fine,” he repeated, pressing a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s jaw. 

Sherlock hummed, moving to cup John’s face in his hands. “John, I can’t lose you. Tonight, I was afraid --” 

“You won’t. I’m here, Sherlock.” 

“John --” Sherlock whispered before dipping his head and pressing his lips to John’s. 

This was no chaste touch, no tender press of skin, Sherlock kissed him like his life depended on it, immediately licking into John’s mouth, sweeping away any resistance John may have given. Not that he was much inclined to provide any. John did his best to keep up, opening his mouth to Sherlock’s explorations, and attempting to pour his reassurance into every slide of tongue, every nip of teeth. Sherlock pressed closer, rolling John onto his back, and covering him from head to toe, plundering his mouth again and again. John groaned when he felt Sherlock’s hardness rub against his own and wrapped one leg around his slim hip to increase the friction. Even through two layers it felt amazing. 

Sherlock broke away to kiss down John’s jaw, sliding his hands down and under his T-shirt. John lifted his arms and bowed his back allowing Sherlock to pull it off. Tossing it over his shoulder, Sherlock nipped and kissed his way down John’s neck, pausing to suck a love bite on his collarbone before dipping lower. John growled, his back arching off the bed as Sherlock took his right nipple into his mouth and sucked. 

“God, Sherlock,” he panted, hands tangling in inky curls, pressing that talented mouth closer. 

He could feel Sherlock’s grin like an imprint on his skin as he made his way across his chest, devoting attention to the other nipple. Sherlock bit lightly, and John couldn’t contain the noise he made, or stop his hips from rocking up, seeking friction for his aching cock. It was ridiculous how little Sherlock had to touch him to make him insane with desire. 

Needing to feel his lips again, John tugged on Sherlock’s hair, relishing his moan at that, and pulled him up, slamming their mouths back together. John gave as good as he was getting, eagerly stroking Sherlock’s tongue with his own, and sucking on that frankly gorgeous bottom lip. Sherlock broke away panting and leaned back, removing his shirt and trousers. (No pants, the vain hussy.) John admired the efficient striptease, his legs spread and bent, one hand cupping himself through his pants. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the wandering limb. “Impatient?”

“For you? Always.”

Sherlock smiled at that, and in the streaming moonlight it made him look younger and vulnerable somehow. John felt something in his chest expand and spread throughout his body. “Come here,” he whispered, shimmying out of his own pants and tossing them aside. 

Graceful as a jaguar, Sherlock crawled back up the bed, lowering himself until they were pressed knees to chest. John cradled Sherlock’s face in his hands and brought him down for a kiss. This one was gentler than the ones they’d shared so far, calmer, slower, John exploring Sherlock’s mouth with reverence. 

“John,” Sherlock sighed against John’s lips, closing his eyes and shuddering.

“What do you need, Sherlock? I’m here.”

Sherlock opened his eyes, “You, John. I need you.”

“God Sherlock, I’m yours,” John breathed, brushing their lips together again in a kiss that quickly turned desperate.

Moaning, Sherlock rolled his hips, rubbing their lengths together, and bent his head to suck at John’s neck. John sighed and arched on the bed, his hands clenched in the sheets. The sighs turned to groans as Sherlock kissed down his body, pausing to swirl his tongue around each of his nipples again in turn and kissing around his navel before moving ever lower. At the first touch of exquisite wet heat to his cock, John struggled to keep breathing, fighting the urge to thrust up into Sherlock’s mouth. 

“Fuck, Sherlock, so good,” he panted, threading his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and pulling lightly. Sherlock moaned around his cock, sending delicious vibrations through him which nearly brought John to the brink right then. Sherlock sank down further, taking John’s length as far as he could, his tongue rubbing along the underside. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked, pulling off to tongue at the slit. John tried to contain the noises he made, but it was fruitless, Sherlock’s mouth was exquisite. 

John leaned up on his elbows to watch the incredible sight laid out before him; Sherlock flat on his stomach, rutting into the sheets as he swallowed around John’s length. At that moment, Sherlock looked up at him, those grey green irises nearly black with desire, hot and hungry on his own. John rubbed his thumb along Sherlock’s jaw. “So good, so beautiful, Christ.” 

Sherlock pulled off, but kept his hand wrapped around the base of John’s cock, jerking slowly in a rhythm that was driving John mad. “John, please, I want -”

“Anything.”

“I need to feel you tonight,” he whispered, turning his head a pressing a kiss to John’s palm, “I need to know you’re safe and whole.” 

Keeping one hand on his cock, Sherlock shifted to press a tender kiss to John’s left thigh, directly above the bandage covering his wound. The sweet gesture nearly did John in. “John, let me? Please?”

“God, yes, Sherlock,” John breathed. Like he’d deny Sherlock anything. 

Sherlock gave a shy smile, and shifted on the bed, crawling half back over John to reach in the bedside table for the lube. John took the opportunity to taste the proffered skin in front of him, grasping Sherlock by the hips to hold him place while he licked around his nipple. Sherlock hissed, pressing further into the contact. John smiled against his skin, reaching his hands further back to grasp Sherlock’s arse and pull him closer. Sherlock groaned and pushed back, leaning down to recapture John’s mouth in a searing kiss and shifting back down to align their erections. They kissed for several minutes, rutting against one another and swallowing each other’s moans, but John wanted more. John wrapped both legs around Sherlock’s waist causing Sherlock’s cock to slip and rub between his arse cheeks, and John gasped. 

Sherlock growled low in his throat, disentangling himself from John’s embrace to move back down his body. John leaned up again to watch as Sherlock, eyes on his, pressed one slick finger to his entrance. John sighed and spread his legs wider as Sherlock’s finger circled his hole. Sherlock leaned down and sucked John’s cock back into his mouth as he pressed in. John cried out, the feeling of Sherlock in him and around him overwhelming. He pressed in farther and John rocked back wanting more. 

“Ungh, Sherlock, more,” John panted. 

Sherlock groaned, quickly sliding in another finger beside the first. He kept a steady rhythm, with his fingers and his mouth on John’s cock, and John was slowly shaking apart. He loved this, Sherlock playing his body as well as he played any violin concerto, listening to every noise, changing every technique to do exactly what John needed. 

“Sher--”

“Shh, John,” Sherlock murmured, pulling off his cock. “You’re perfect.” He sank back down, pressing in a third finger beside the first two. The feeling of being full was nearly too much, but at that minute, Sherlock expertly twisted his wrist and rubbed his prostate, John cried out, his back arching of the bed. 

“Now. Fuck me, now, Sherlock.”

Sherlock pulled his fingers out and leant back to slick up his own length, before crawling up John’s body and settling between his thighs. John threaded his fingers in his mop of curls and pulled him down for a kiss as Sherlock began to sink in. 

“John,” Sherlock panted as he finally sank all the way in, sucking hard on the side of his neck. “You feel amazing.” 

“Oh god, Sherlock, move.”

“Impatient?”

“Fuck yes.” John thrust his hips upward, and Sherlock gasped. In retaliation, Sherlock pulled almost all the way out then pushed back in slowly, expertly rolling his hips. 

“Better?” he breathed out, bending his head to capture John’s lips as he set a steady rhythm. For his part John was beyond speech, his entire focus narrowed to the feeling of Sherlock inside him. He hitched his legs higher on Sherlock’s waist, changing the angle slightly which caused Sherlock to hit his prostate on every thrust. 

“Sherlock -- there, god. _Harder_.”

Sherlock complied, threading their fingers together and pinning them over John’s head before picking up his pace and slamming into John again and again. John met him thrust for thrust, pressing against the added weight, his fingers white with tension where he tightly gripped Sherlock’s own. He peppered open mouthed kisses to Sherlock’s throat and jaw, anywhere he could reach, the taste of Sherlock hot and delicious in his mouth. John could tell Sherlock was getting close, he was trembling in John’s arms, his moans becoming more and more desperate. John was nearing his precipice as well, but he wanted, needed, Sherlock to come inside him, needed to feel him fall apart. 

“Come for me Sherlock,” John panted, sucking hard on Sherlock’s neck.

“Not without you,” he growled, releasing one of his hands to snake it between their bodies and stroke John in time with their thrusts. John suddenly went from close to right there as he shouted his release into Sherlock’s skin, his cock spurting warm and heavy between them. 

“Oh, _John_ ,” Sherlock moaned, releasing John’s cock to grasp him firmly by the hips and slam harder into John’s body. There would be bruises and he would surely feel this in the morning, but John really couldn’t care less. Sherlock gave one final hard thrust and came, yelling John’s name in a low growl that almost made John wish for another round. Sherlock collapsed boneless on top of him, breathing hard, while John pressed small kisses to his temple. After a minute, he rolled to his side, and John rolled with him, needing to stay as close as possible. 

John sighed in satisfied contentment as Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, his fingers drawing circles on the planes of his back. “Where did you go tonight?” He whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s chest. 

The silence stretched into minutes before Sherlock finally answered. “I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t. I came close. I walked some old routes, trying to clear the image of you, your blood, everything from my mind. The only thing I could think about was ‘what if it had been worse?’ John I -- I promised you when we started this that I’d never leave you again, but we never talked about you leaving. I can’t go back to life without you in it.”

“Sherlock,” John leaned up on his elbow to look down at Sherlock, brushing a thumb across one of those ridiculous cheekbones he loved so much. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, yeah? If a bullet couldn’t keep me down, a knife certainly isn’t going to,” he chuckled. 

“John --”

“Sherlock, no one knows what the future holds. But I can tell you this. It’s always us, right? Just you and me against the world. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Not without you.”

John allowed himself to be pulled down, and Sherlock slotted their mouths together in a slow slide of lips and tongues, just this side of chaste that left John hoping for more. They broke away, both of their breath coming short, and the beginnings of a flush blooming on Sherlock’s cheeks. John smirked, climbing out of the bed heading towards the door. “I’m for a shower.”

“Alone?” Sherlock called.

John popped his head back in the room and winked. “Not without you.”

 


End file.
